


Darcy's Home for Wayward Murder Kittens

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Darcy's Home for Wayward Brunettes, F/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2020-11-02 08:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20683847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Just one overworked lab assistant and three sometimes homicidal men in various stages of rehabilitation*based on a tumblr prompt ask for anon





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *I own nothing!

“It’s my Sunday off, Jane,” Darcy said into the cell phone. “I don’t want to talk about work. I’m in the Bath and Body Works, I’m exhausted and coping by spending money on candles, and I hate the name Nick forevermore. Yes, I know he could be monitoring my calls. I want him to know. Yup, I’m a grumpy beeyotch, people, this is the new, improved me---hold on. Bucky’s calling. I’ll call you back. Love you. Bye.” She hung up and hit the green accept call button. “Yes?” 

“Hey, doll,” Bucky said. 

“Something you need, Buckaroo?” she asked. Bucky was her favorite charge. She didn’t mind him much, even if he had a tendency to accidentally break things. It was the arm. He didn’t know his own strength when he was sleepy and he’d put her IKEA coffee table back together immediately.

“No, but uh, Rollins and Rumlow are up to something, I heard ‘em whisperin,’ he said. “Can I investigate?” he asked politely. 

“Yes,” she said. “Absolutely investigate before those two preschoolers set my sofa on fire.” A passing woman stared. “Kids, am I right?” Darcy said, shrugging. On the line, Bucky laughed.

“Will do,” he said. 

After they hung up, Darcy looked at her phone and sighed. It would be nice if Bucky didn’t feel the need to ask permission to do things all the time. She worried it reflected a lack of self confidence on his part. Like he still thought he needed a minder. It was Darcy’s second job: minding Bucky’s rehabilitation and minimally supervising the two ex-HYDRA turncoats who’d helped Fury get Pierce. She’d done it in exchange for free housing and a Cadillac-level health insurance and benefits plan. At first, she’s thought everything would go well. She liked Jack Rollins. Rollins was actually Australian and had been easy-going. But then Rumlow had come back from faking his own death with Cap in Nigeria. He’d been doing a stint as a fake mercenary called Crossbones, stealing back SHIELD equipment. Now the two of them were constantly getting into trouble: eating all Darcy’s ice cream and her cereal, playing pranks on her with confetti poppers tied to her bathroom door, and spending days boxing. In her living room. She hadn’t been able to fix her favorite lamp, unfortunately. Alone, each of them would probably be fine. Together, they were like rowdy teens. She wasn’t ready for this kind of motherhood. Actually, she’d been rethinking parenthood all together…

The idea of a solo apartment free of man-dirt and a quiet, purring cat and everything being where she’d left it sounded really appealing. But she’d miss Bucky. And probably Jack. And maybe even idiot Brock, who wore clunky boots, called her “princess,” and hid her coffee in the mornings. Darcy looked around the busy store. They were already putting out the fall stuff, even though it was barely September. She wondered if Bucky would want bubble bath? The metal arm was rust-proof, right? She bought one of the vanilla ones, just in case. Got three, just so no one would feel slighted. 

“Thank you, darl,” Jack said politely, when she came home and announced she’d brought gifts. Darcy took the bottles out as she sat at the dining room table. They had ribbons on them. “Real kind of you,” Jack said, smiling.

“Bubble bath?” Rumlow said, looking at her with a skeptical expression. “What’d the fuck you buy me bubble bath for, princess?” he said, looking from her to his bottle. He and Rollins were just back from the boxing gym. 

“Maybe you smell, mate,” Jack said, tucking his bottle into the pocket of his hoodie as he walked to his bedroom. He returned a few moments later. He was growing out his hair and looked a bit like he ought to work at a vegan smoothie place, Darcy thought. It was his bandanna fixation. “I’m off,” he said. “Going out for a bit.”

“Where are you going?” Darcy said. She was supposed to monitor them--lightly. She’d pretty much decided to be open about it on day two. 

“Bread class at the Whole Foods,” he said casually. “Wanna learn to bake.”

“You look like you bake,” Rumlow snarked. “You shoulda got him patchouli, princess, he looks like he bathes in that stuff.”

“Fuck off,” Rollins said casually.

“Asshole.”

“Why don’t you head back to the other gym, old man,” Rollins said, hand on the front door. “Gotta keep up with me and the ninety year old and your joints are creaky.” Rollins grinned at Darcy. “Whacked ‘im good today. He’s probably still feelin’ it, that’s why he’s so bloody rude,” he said.

“Fuck you, hippie van,” Rumlow said. They did that all the time. Snarked like brothers.

“Are you done verbally abusing each other so he can go to bread class and learn something useful?” Darcy asked, sighing. She had a teeny headache.

“Yeah,” Rumlow said, frowning. After the door shut behind Jack, he looked at her. “Thank you,” he said slowly. Darcy nodded. “Bucky’s going out with Wilson tonight,” he added, as if he wasn’t allowed. His expression was ambiguous.

“I know,” Darcy said. “Bucky can go out, Sam knows how to handle it if things get too crowded or make Bucky nervous.” Rumlow nodded. Darcy thought the conversation was over. She made to stand up and maybe find a snack.

“Did you want to watch a movie?” he said suddenly.

“Sure,” she said, relieved he wasn’t pouting.

“I’ll, uh, get the popcorn ready,” he said, looking all purposeful and whatnot. He was probably just bored, she thought. 

“Did you have a movie?”

“Have a movie?” he said. 

“Like, already planned?”

“Oh,” he said. “Uh, no. You pick.” She briefly debated making him watch a romcom or something he’d probably hate, like several hours of  _ Downton Abbey, _ but ultimately settled for something more acceptable. “You like Liam Neeson?” he said, when she told him the title.

“I like this movie,” she said. “He’s trapped on a train. It’s very suspenseful. And the supporting cast is good, too.”

Twenty minutes later, they were both on the couch. Darcy folded herself up under a blanket and sort of forgot he was there, until a scene where Liam Neeson’s character had a setback. “Fuck,” Rumlow said. Darcy jumped and almost spilled her popcorn. “Sorry,” he said.

“I sort of forgot you were there,” she told him, laughing. “It’s okay.”

“You forgot me?” he said. “Great.”

“What’s that mean?” she said, pausing the movie. He looked away.

“Nothing, I just--nothing,” he repeated. “Start the movie.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, suddenly suspecting something. She turned the movie back on. Liam Neeson was talking to a fellow commuter when she paused it again. “Are you trying to ask me out or something?” she said.

“What?” he said. “No.”

“Okay,” she said.

“You’re like my probation officer,” he said, as she restarted the movie a second time. Darcy shrugged in acknowledgement. “And then there’s the age difference,” he said. “Plus, all you eat is carbs and junk food, it’s kind of horrifying--”

“I’m glad you haven’t given it much thought,” she said. “That way I wouldn’t feel bad turning you down.” Darcy kept her eyes on the screen, but she heard his audible sound of dismay.

“What do you mean, turning me down?” he said. “Turning me down? Me?”

“Mmmm-hmm.”

“I’m in the top percentile for physical fitness--” he began.

“For your age?” she said.

“For any age, princess. Fury trusts me, I have the most mission successes except Cap and Romanoff, I got no kids, no ex-wives, good hair, I’m a fucking catch,” he said. 

“That’s good,” she said. 

“Good?”

“It means you’ll recover from me, right?” she said. He sputtered. Darcy heard a key in the door. Jack came in.

“Hullo, asshole, Darce,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve got sourdough!”

“She just turned me down,” Brock said to him, looking like a stunned fish.

“Told ya,” Jack said. “Would you like some bread, darl?”

“That would be lovely,” Darcy said. He went into the kitchen. Brock still looked stunned. The door opened again. Bucky and Sam strolled in. 

“I’ve got bread!” Jack called. Sam plopped down between Darcy and Brock. Bucky moved towards the kitchen.

“Oooh, Liam Neeson,” he said. He did his impression of Neeson: “I will find you and I will kill you,” Sam growled. “I love this dude.” 

On his other side, Brock huffed out a sigh. “Everybody likes Liam Neeson. That don't make you special.”

“What’s your problem?” Sam asked.

“Darce shot him down,” Bucky said, coming out of the kitchen with a tray of bread slices and cheese. “And Jack’s bread is good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This isn't what it looks like...well, that part is" prompt for itsjaili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing

Darcy had a long Monday in the lab and was exhausted when she got home. “Everything okay, Lewis?” Rumlow asked, when she came in, plunked down her bag and sighed. It was ten-oh-three at night. “It’s late,” he added.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “We had a minor fire when one of Jane’s beloved, very homemade pieces of equipment sparked a little.”

“Oh, shit,” he said. “Everyone all right?”

“Yeah, but Jane cried when I pronounced time of death on Spence the Spectrometer,” Darcy said. “My feet hurt and I’ve moved past hunger into that phase where I feel too numb to think about food--” she was saying when he stood up, frowning. 

“You can’t go in the kitchen,” Rumlow said. “Jack’s in there, practicing. He’s reserved the kitchen for tonight.” Rumlow blocked her access to the door.

“Oh, man, come on!” Darcy whined. “I'm tired and I need food, Rumlow.” 

“Order pizza,” Rumlow said. Something about his tone set Darcy off. She was grumpy, she was tired, and her clothes smelled like smoke. 

“Gahhhhhh!” she said, launching herself at him like a wet, angry cat. Apparently, she managed to take Rumlow by surprise. He crumpled to the ground in a slow fall with her on top of him. She was attempting a face slap--Rumlow was blocking her easily and smiling--when Bucky strolled into the living room.

“Hello,” Bucky said.

“This isn't what it looks like,” Brock said.

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Darcy vowed. “This time, he stays dead.”

“Well, that part is,” Rumlow admitted, grinning. “But she’s got no upper body strength.” He craned his neck down to peer at her body as he held her hands away from his face. “Good thigh hold.”

“Bucky help! He won’t let me in the kitchen and I’m starving!” Darcy said hotly, unable to really smack Rumlow. She wished she was Steve in an elevator. Sam had told her that story about his undercover work, before the Crossbones thing and Helen Cho healing his burns. 

“Jack’s baking,” Bucky said. Darcy shrieked again. Rumlow had tickled her. It was half-outraged, half giggle. 

“I’m gonna mur--” Darcy began.

“Why don’t you make her dinner, Rumlow?” Bucky said.

“Oh,” Rumlow said, as if this had just occurred to him. “Yeah. I’ll make you dinner.”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, when he set the plate in front of her. She looked down at it. “Peanut butter and jelly? Really?” She'd gone to put on her pajamas while he made dinner.

“I've lived on protein bars and MREs,” Rumlow said. “If you’re bitching about the food, you ain’t that hungry.”

“You are unbelievable,” Darcy told him. 

“I cut the crusts off and did that diagonal thing you do,” he said, frowning. She gave him an unimpressed look. “What, you don’t think I see you, eating cereal for dinner three nights a week?” he asked. “Jack took all the counter space. And I thought you were dying of hunger out here?” He looked like he was going to scold her. 

“Fine,” she said. “I’m eating.” She took a bite and he relaxed.

“You want, uh, carrots or something?” he offered. 

“I’m not seven,” Darcy said, around her sandwich.

“You wear pajamas like you’re seven,” he snarked. She glared. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Sorry.” He raised his arms. “I’ll see what else we’ve got--” he said.

“And yet you still want to get in my pajamas,” she muttered, between bites. 

“What?” he said, turning back. He was halfway to the kitchen. She knew he and Jack were plotting something.

“What are you two doing?” she said. “You better not break anything. Bucky told me--”

“Barnes told you what?” Rumlow said, looking unexpectedly upset. “He knows--”

“He knows you’re up to something!” Darcy said, as Bucky emerged from the kitchen. He looked from her to Rumlow.

“I’ll make sure they clean up your kitchen, doll,” he told Darcy. “You just enjoy dinner.” Bucky seemed wildly amused. It made her worry. 

“No pranks on old ladies. Or Steve,” Darcy said seriously. Bucky nodded; Rumlow snorted. 

“He wouldn’t fall for that confetti popper trick,” Rumlow said smugly. “Man, you screamed so loud.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “I hadn’t had coffee yet.”

“I’m gonna check on something,” Rumlow said. He pointed at her. “You stay out of the kitchen.”

“Fine,” she said. He went back in and she looked at Bucky. “What are they planning? Did you investigate?” she asked curiously.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Darce,” Bucky said. “I promise.”

“Why can’t I look, then? I swear to God, if it’s a stink bomb or something equally stupid,” she said, warming to her outrage. 

“Don’t squeeze your sandwich, your jam'll fall out,” Bucky said gently. “Goodnight.”

“You’re avoiding me!” Darcy yelled at his retreating back. “I know when I’m being lied to!” She heard him chuckle.

She ate her PB&J somewhat resentfully, until Rumlow came back with ice cream. “Here,” he said. “I got you some ice cream.”

“I thought you were a health freak,” she said.

“You’re not,” he said, sitting down on the couch next to her. 

“No,” she said. “What kind of ginormous bread loaf is Jack making?” 

“He’s practicing,” Rumlow said. 

“Practicing what?” she said.

“A bread thing,” Rumlow said, flicking the channel to ESPN.

“What kind of--”

“Shh, I’m watching this,” he grumbled. Darcy glared at him. God, he was getting on her nerves. From inside the kitchen, she heard dishes clanging. Everyone was tricking her. She was so huffy, she turned her head sharply---and then winced as hot, intense pain flooded through her neck. 

“Ow,” Darcy said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I pulled a stupid muscle in my stupid neck,” she said bitterly.

“How?” Rumlow said.

“I turned my head too fast, okay? It happens sometimes,” she complained. He grinned at her.

“You hurt yourself turning your head?” Rumlow said.

“Bite me,” she said, eating another spoonful of ice cream. 

“And Fury has you as my minder,” he said, laughing fully now. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

“Shut up,” Darcy mumbled.

“I’m just saying, I could kill you about three hundred different ways and you get hurt turning your own head,” he said. “C’mere.” He half-turned her body and put his hands on her shoulders, feeling tentatively.

“What--what are you doing?” Darcy said. “Boundaries!” He stopped.

“Can I feel your neck?” he asked. “I think I know what’s wrong.”

“Okay,” she said. “What is it, Mr. Fitness?”

“Your neck hurts ‘cause you got tight trapezius muscles from hunching over a laptop,” he said. “It’s all connected beneath the shoulder, too. How’s it feel right here?” he asked, pressing his thumb into the knot under her shoulder blade. She groaned in--it felt fantastic--then remembered this was him and flushed with embarrassment. He’d use that in an impression of her for months, probably.

“I have pain there,” she admitted. 

“Okay, got it,” he said, continuing to press into her back, kneading up into her shoulder. “Relax,” he said. “Get your shoulders down.”

“I can’t just relax on command,” she said. He sighed.

“Just flop down on your belly,” he said. “Put down the spoon.”

“Why?”

“You’re using sugar to compensate for physical discomfort. Put down the spoon,” he said.

“Fine, but I’m finishing this carton when it gets soft,” she said, setting it on the coffee table. She lay down on her belly and tried not to feel too self conscious as he kneeled on the edge of the couch, rubbing her neck and shoulders. The pressure of his hands was steady and gentle. They were warm hands, too. He started at the base of her neck and she tried not to shiver. At least she had her clothes on.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m trying not to think of how easily you could kill me,” Darcy lied. He laughed. She definitely was not thinking about that as he dug his thumbs into her shoulders and pushed up gently. “Oh man,” she said.

“Too much?” he said, pausing.

“No--nope,” she said, trying to sound light. Breezy. Yeah, that was it.

“Can you roll over?” he asked. “On your back?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to be cool. She rolled over. He started working her shoulders from above, one at a time. He lifted her shoulder up off the couch and massaged it as as he stood over her. Darcy swallowed. The position they were in was so...close. Her arm was draped over one of his forearms. He reached under her, pressing a thumb into her lower shoulder blade. His other arm reached over the top of her shoulder. He was using both hands to stretch and massage her shoulder blades, reaching around to her back as he leaned down. Occasionally, he wiggled her torso as he pressed. Facing him was super awkward. She didn’t know where to look. Look at his face? Too intimate. And looking straight ahead risked him thinking she was checking out his crotch. She totally wasn’t doing that. Nope. She closed her eyes. That was more professional, right? She sighed.

“Nice, huh?” he said. He sounded pleased. “You gotta take better care of yourself, princess--” he began.

“Don’t ruin it by telling me to jog and eat broccoli,” she said, eyes firmly closed. His fingers pressed into her shoulders more when he laughed. “That feels soooo great,” she admitted.

“Well, we’re gonna need to work on this,” he was saying, kneading her shoulders in that half crouch, when the kitchen door opened. Darcy opened her eyes and tilted her chin up to look over to that side of the room.

“What’s going on?” Jack said. She realized they must look weird. 

“Nothing,” Brock said, releasing her abruptly. She flopped back on the couch with an oof. 

“Hey,” Darcy grumbled. “Mean. He’s supposed to be fixing my muscle thingies, not dropping me.”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said. “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then.” He sounded almost smug.

“Why are you being smug?” Darcy said. He didn’t answer; she got a repeat of Bucky’s laugh and waltz away routine. She looked at Brock. “What are you people keeping from me in that kitchen?” 

“Nothing,” Brock said. “You want to eat your ice cream now?”

“Yes, but only if you do that shoulder thing again,” she said, rolling over onto her belly and wiggling down her pajama top to make sure she wasn’t flashing too much skin. 

“Oh,” he said. “Yeah.”

“I know you’re all lying to me,” she added, scooping up some cookies ‘n creme. “I’m going to find out why.”

“You’re gonna find out why?” he said, sounding amused. He was doing that thing where he pressed up into her shoulders again. She sighed with happiness.

“Yup.”

“Sure,” he said, sounding skeptical. “You’ll get it out of me, Rollins, or Barnes.” She shot him a look over her shoulder. “What?” he said.

“I’ll find out,” she repeated.

“Uh-huh,” he said. If she fell asleep on the couch while he dodged her questions, at least her back felt better. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

When she woke up, it was five o’clock in the morning and she was tucked carefully in her bed. Darcy sat up. She really had to pee. Also, she was investigating that kitchen. Rumlow hadn’t let her back in after Jack had finished his bread--or whatever it was. He and Bucky and Jack had all gone back in at various times and she knew they’d been talking. Talking about a secret. She was definitely checking the kitchen for bombs, she thought. It would be totally like them to make a bomb next to her bag of French roast coffee. 

Darcy padded quietly into the kitchen. 

She checked the pantry. No sign of bombs. Then she checked the cabinets. No bombs. The fridge. No bombs. Nothing suspicious in the freezer, either. But then she realized something. Her domed cake plate--the one she used for parties--had two mostly-eaten cakes hidden under it. “What the hell?” Darcy said. They were fancy cakes. She recognized them from the TV. “Jack did the Great British Bake Off cakes without me?” she said out loud. They’d talked about doing them together--before Rumlow showed up. And they’d obviously eaten them without her. Darcy felt a sudden pang of disappointment. They hadn’t even offered her any? It was super rude. Also, her feelings were hurt. Really hurt. She loved cake! 

She was still upset at work that day. “I can’t believe they all had cake without me,” she said, for about the fifth time. Jane looked up and sighed. “Those traitors,” Darcy added. “I blame Rumlow. Everything was fine before he moved in. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Darce,” Jane said with a sigh, “while I agree that it is very rude not to offer you cake, you have to consider alternative plausible theories.”

“Okay, science lady, hit me with your theorem,” Darcy said, crossing her arms.

“Rumlow said Jack was practice baking, right?” Jane said, looking patient.

“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding.

“Meaning this was a test for a future event?” Jane suggested gently.

“So?” Darcy said. “It’s hella rude, okay?”

“Your birthday’s in two weeks,” Jane said. “They could be practice birthday cakes.”

“Why not tell me?” she asked Jane.

“Because it’s a surprise?” Jane said. “A surprise like...a birthday surprise?”

“Pffffhttt,” Darcy said. “They just wanted to leave me out for some reason. Probably because I’m not some badass murder kitten.”

“Would Bucky leave you out like that, though?” Jane said.

“They’re corrupting my sweet Buckaroo,” Darcy said grimly. “This is all Rumlow, I’m telling you.”

“Sure,” Jane said. She probably thought she hid her eye roll, but Darcy saw it. It added to her general feeling of grump. And unhappiness. She hated feeling left out. It was a sensitive spot--she’d been an only child and a sometimes-awkward teen. But she hadn’t experienced this vague feeling of being on the outside of a social group in years. It stung. More than a little. She sat and fretted as she answered emails, then decided she would do something. She’d never been able to say anything when she was young, but she could say something now. 

She confronted Rumlow at lunch. He ate in the cafeteria, usually. Jane and Darcy ate with them sometimes. So, she stomped down to find him. He was sitting at a table with a bunch of other STRIKE dudes and dudettes, plus Bucky, Steve, and Nat. Jack wasn’t around. When Rumlow saw her heading over, he stood up, doing that half-look thing he did all the time. “Hey, sweethe---” he began. Darcy didn’t let him finish.

“You!” she said, poking him. “I know what you did last night!”

“What?” Rumlow said, looking stunned. Behind him, the rest of the table stared.

“You hid _ cake from me on purpose?” _she said. “And I know how you’re leading Bucky astray, making him all mischief-y or whatever,” she said. “He and Jack used to be well-behaved!” Over his shoulder, Steve started to laugh.

“What?” Rumlow repeated. He looked like she’d actually hit him. His mouth hung open. 

“You’re a bad influence on them,” she said. “I’m putting it in my next report to Fury. And I’m not falling for that shoulder rub trick again, either. Trying to hide cake from me with that cheesy move. How could you do that? Did you think it was funny to trick me like that?” 

“Darcy,” he began.

“No,” she said, waving her arms. “I don’t know what kind of mean joke that was, but my feelings are hurt, Brock. Really hurt.” Darcy found herself sounding more emotional than she’d meant to. She turned on her heel and fled the cafeteria.

“Shit,” Rumlow said. He blinked and watched her dash away. Then he looked back at Bucky and Steve. “What the fuck just happened?” he said. 

“I guess she found those test birthday cakes?” Bucky said. “You gotta tell her about the surprise party, Rumlow. It was your idea.”

“Yeah.” Rumlow rubbed his jaw. “Shit.”

“Birthday party?” one of the STRIKE guys said.

“She’s turning thirty-two in a few weeks,” Rumlow said. “She said she didn’t want a big party, but I thought--”

“Awww,” one of the women on STRIKE Charlie said. “Rumlow has a crush!”

“She don’t know, so be quiet,” Rumlow said sharply. His face was grim.

“Everybody else does know,” Bucky said. “Me, Sam, Natalya…”

“I didn’t know you were well-behaved?” Steve said, looking at Bucky. Bucky grinned.

“I’m Darce’s favorite,” he said. He cut his eyes at the STRIKE commander. “Still.”

“Shut up,” Rumlow grumbled. “I’m trying, it’s just awkward when you’re living with somebody.” He looked torn. “I’m not good at emotional shit. I don’t wanna overstep…” his voice trailed off.

“I’ll go check on her,” Bucky said calmly. He stood up and flexed his metal arm, strolling past Rumlow with a look.

Darcy had ducked out of the cafeteria and then sat in a little alcove until she calmed down. She was all messed up. She couldn’t figure out why she was so rattled and emotional. Was it PMS? She definitely didn’t want to see Rumlow, she realized, when she heard heavy footfalls. She hoped she was hidden by the potted palm near her bench. “Darce?” a voice said.

“Bucky?” she said, leaning around the big green leaves and smiling.

“You okay?” he said, giving her one of those small, sweet smiles.

“Yeah,” she said, but then she found herself reaching for him and tearing up a bit. She hugged him. “I don’t know why I’m so upset over some dumb cakes--” she began, but Bucky gave her a little squeeze and interrupted her sniffles.

“They were test runs for your birthday, doll,” he said gently.

“Oh,” she said, “oh. That’s so nice of you. Jane thought that was what they were, too.”

“Uh-huh.” Bucky’s voice was wry. He was such a soft person, she thought. How was he this soft?

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I let my imagination run wild.”

“S’okay,” he said.

“Thanks,” she said, brushing back his hair.

“I need a haircut,” he said.

“I could help you with that,” she said. “I used to cut Jane’s hair when we were broke.” 

“I’d like that,” Bucky said. At her expression of disbelief, he went on. “Still don’t like strangers with sharp stuff near me.” She nodded.

“I should probably apologize to Rumlow, too, huh?” Darcy said, shaking her head.

“Maybe,” Bucky said. He smiled. “It was his idea to do something for your birthday. He’s organizing the whole shindig.”

“Really?” Darcy said. She felt embarrassed now. She looked at her feet. “It was Rumlow’s idea?”

“Yeah,” a voice said. She looked up. Rumlow was standing there. “I know you said you thought thirty-two was a lousy birthday, but uh--” he paused. His expression was strange. Darcy moved around Bucky and went over to hug him, too. His hug was more stiff. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She felt his body relax and his arms tighten around her. “I feel like an idiot,” she added.

“It’s all right, Lewis.” She leaned in. Inhaled. His cologne--sandalwood--clung to his tactical clothes. She’d gotten used to smelling it in their shared laundry room.

“You smell nice,” she told him. “I keep meaning to tell you.”

“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. "You think I’m a bad influence on Barnes?” he said, chuckling.

“You’re definitely a bad influence on Rollins,” she insisted. He smirked.

“Yes, I am,” he said.

“Where’d Bucky go?” she wondered, when they finally broke the hug awkwardly. Darcy peered around the hallway. Bucky had disappeared. “Did he just Winter Soldier on us?”

“Possibly,” Rumlow said, looking like his normal, sarcastic self again. When she looked back at him, he was tilting his head at her. “Lewis?” he said.

“Yeah?” she said, feeling weird again all of a sudden. Was he going to ask her…..?

“Don’t you have a job somewhere in this building?” he cracked.

“Shut up,” she said, feeling an irrational urge to smack him again. “God, I don’t know why I want to slap the smirk off your face,” she said, glaring. He laughed. 

“That right?”

“Absolutely. And why wouldn’t I get to try my own birthday cake, huh?” she said, poking him again. “You ate cake and I didn’t get any and you don’t even like cake!”

“Those recipes”--he frowned--”were fucking weird. British baking,” he scoffed. “You don’t want those, I already told Rollins. That lavender one was disgusting.” He shook his head.

“He made the lavender and lemon cake?” Darcy said. “I wanted to help!”

“You don’t help when it’s your birthday,” Rumlow said. They bickered as she got on the elevator to go to the lab. “I’m mission planning your birthday and I’ve already saved you from one shitty cake.” He sounded pleased with himself. “I told him you wanted a normal flavor, like chocolate or pistachio or something,” he said. 

“Pistachio?” she said.

“Pistachio’s good. What, you just like weird food?” he insisted teasingly, as the doors closed.

“I didn’t say it was bad. You are so frustrating!” Darcy yelled. He laughed at her and then the doors sealed shut. She stomped into the lab. 

“Janeybug,” Darcy announced, “you were right about the cakes. They’re practice birthday cakes. Also, Brock Rumlow is the most irritating man alive.” Jane was standing with Natasha. They both looked up.

“You find him annoying?” Nat asked smoothly.

“Yes,” Darcy said, with emphasis. “He makes me just--just so irritated! Like, he did this little smirk at me and I just want to, like, smack him, you know?”

“Didn’t he give you a massage and carry you to bed last night?” Jane said.

“Oh really?” Nat said, raising an eyebrow.

“He was trying to keep me out of the kitchen,” Darcy said. “And I don’t know if he was the one who carried me to my room, I’d fallen asleep. Anybody could’ve tucked me in.”

“Of course,” Nat said. “It could have been anyone.”

“He’s just so frustrating!” Darcy said. “I don’t get it. Why is he like that?”

“A mystery,” Jane said, glancing at Nat. Nat smiled one of her half smiles and nodded fractionally. 

“I know you’re making fun of me,” Darcy muttered, “but I have a plan.”

“What?” Jane said, but Darcy was already answering emails and muttering to herself. “Are you still talking about cake?” Jane asked. Darcy waved airily and hit the enter key on her laptop with emphasis. Jane and Natasha shared a look.

When Darcy got home that night, the three of them and Sam Wilson were sitting on the couch, playing video games. “I have something to say,” she announced. “Hello, Sam.”

“Hi, Darce,” Sam said, flexing his arms as he worked the controls. Onscreen, there was a bang. “Ahhh,” he said. “Rumlow, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m kicking your ass.” Brock looked at Darcy. “That’s your big announcement?” Rumlow said. “Hello, Sam?” he repeated, doing an imitation of her voice that she knew didn’t sound like her at all. 

“No,” she said. “I was just being polite. My big announcement is that I want to be involved in my birthday party planning. I want to taste cake and stuff.”

“Sounds good,” Bucky said. His eyes were glued to the screen.

“Too right,” Jack said.

“Wait,” Rumlow said. “It’s a surprise party--”

“Not anymore, it ain’t,” Sam said.

“Exactly,” Darcy said, putting down her bag and heading for the kitchen. 

“Well, it was fucking supposed to be a surprise party. Besides, I got this,” Rumlow said. He tossed his controller and stood up.

“Where are you going?” Bucky said. Rumlow headed into the kitchen after Darcy.

“No point, mate, no point,” Jack said. “He’s gone.” The game heralded the death of Rumlow’s character with a wonking sound. 

“What are you doing?” Darcy said, rummaging through the fridge, when she realized he had followed her into the kitchen. “What about your game?”

“It’s kid stuff,” he said, shrugging and crossing his arms. “I don’t even like video games, I just wanted to beat Wilson. And I’ve got a big announcement, too, princess.”

“Okay?” Darcy said. 

“This party thing, it’s my project. You're not planning it.”

“It’s my birthday!” Darcy said. 

“People don’t plan their own birthday parties,” he said. Then he nodded, like he’d actually made a point.

“Well, it’s my birthday, shouldn’t I get what I want?” she argued. He tilted his head. 

“Okay, tell me what you want,” he said. Darcy stared at him. 

“Seriously?” she said.

“Wait, lemme get some paper,” he said. When he returned, she was having cereal. “Again?” he teased.

“Be quiet,” she said, sticking her tongue out. He blinked at her, then cleared his throat.

“All right, no weird lavender cakes--”

“I want funfetti,” Darcy announced. “Funfetti white cake and chocolate frosting. The kind in the can?”

“Canned frosting?” he said, looking horrified. 

“Sometimes,” she said. “I just want frosting from a can. I just like it--”

“Like that goddamned mac n cheese with the powder you love so much,” he said, writing and shuddering.

“Yes!” Darcy said. “Exactly like my Kraft problem. There’s just something about it. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Also, I want lots of sprinkles.”

“Sprinkles,” he repeated. She watched him list things out.

“Multicolor,” she added, swirling her spoon and grinning. 

“You’re just like a kid, Lewis,” he said, standing up. He got a bottle of water. “I feel like I’m practicing for kids living with you,” he said wryly. She made a face at him.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I have a childlike sense of joy, it’s not my fault you’re all jaded and cynical. Also, I think we should consider party favors.”

“What else?” he asked, taking a swig. Perfect. 

“Do you think male strippers are inappropriate for a birthday party?” Darcy said. He started, then coughed. Several times. She tried not to grin too wickedly.

“What?” Rumlow said, after he’d gotten control of himself.

“I’m just afraid I’ll never have a bachelorette party, so I want to do the male stripper thing before it’s too late,” she mused. He stared, blinking again. “Ooooh, what about a fun cake shape?” she said, deliberately breezy. “Like a unicorn? Or a mermaid?”

“No, hold on,” he said, tapping his pen. “Let’s circle back to this stripper thing, huh?” he smirked at her. 

“If you’re trying to embarrass me, I won’t be embarrassed--” she began, as Jack walked into the kitchen.

“Lewis wants a male stripper for her party,” Brock said. He leaned back. “Did you tell her about that Miami job, asshole?” he said, looking at Jack’s back. Jack started to laugh. He was really laughing, she realized.

“No,” he got out, between peals of laughter. He turned.

“What?” Darcy said, looking between them. “I don’t get it?”

“Coul-Coulson made him”--a gleeful Jack pointed at Brock--”go undercover as a stripper once. Had--had his own neon banana hammock and everything!” he said. Once he’d gotten the words out, he lost it fully, leaning against the kitchen counter and laughing as he held his stomach. “I got-gotta sit down,” he said, sliding slowly to the floor. Darcy looked from him to an uncomfortable-looking Rumlow. 

“What?” Darcy said, shock. “Does Sam know?” 

“Shut up, Jack,” Brock grumbled. “Nobody knows who wasn’t on the mission. I thought he’d told you or something.” Darcy shook her head. 

“Nope,” she said, trying not to laugh too directly in his face. “I had no idea you had a, uh, neon banana hammock?” she said tentatively, then grinned through bitten lips.

“I was a damn good dancer, all right?” he said. “You gotta have flair. I had flair. Women loved me. Men, too.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, then she clasped her hand over her mouth. The effort of not joining Jack, who was currently cry-laughing against a cabinet, was too much to bear. Rumlow huffed in annoyance.

“I was great at it. You’ll see,” Brock said, standing up. "You've got your wishlist, Lewis." He took the list and left the kitchen. 

“Wait, what?” Darcy called after him. “What’s happening?” She looked at Jack. “He’s not really going to strip for my birthday, is he?”

Jack wiped a tear off his face, chuckling. “Dunno, darl. I thought he put away his feather boa years ago.”

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. She stared at Jack. Just then, Sam and Bucky came in.

“Why’s he on the floor?” Sam asked. Bucky shrugged.

“Brock is threatening to strip for my birthday. He was undercover as a male stripper once,” Darcy said, still feeling stunned.

“Maybe he can jump out of the cake,” Bucky said, grinning.

“Be better than eating it, that lavender thing was awful,” Sam said. “Tasted like soap.”

“Hey,” Jack said. “I worked hard on that bloody thing.”

“You had cake without me, too?” Darcy said at the same time.

“You might have gotten off easy,” Sam told her. Bucky nodded.

“I followed the recipe exactly,” Jack muttered. “Wasn’t my baking. I’m a good baker--”

  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biblioworm requested Darcy giving Bucky a haircut and Brock getting jelly, so voila!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“How short do you want it, Buckarini?” Darcy asked a few nights later, ruffling his hair. 

“Dunno,” he said, giving her a shy smile. “Been growing it out, but might like it short, doll.”

“Like 1942 short?” she said. Darcy had found her old haircutting scissors and combs. Now they were cutting his hair in the living room. She’d put a towel under his chair. 

“What’s 1942 short?” Jack asked, from the couch where he was playing video games with Sam. Darcy suspected Sam was hanging around just to tease Brock about his new stripper-themed nickname. Brock had disappeared after dinner and Darcy didn’t know where he’d gone. She was trying not to fret about it. It didn’t mean he was plotting, did it?

“His cute photos from the Smithsonian,” Darcy said. “You were a total hottie, my dude. Are a total hottie,” she corrected. Bucky blushed. “What if we cut off your ponytail and donate it to one of those charities that makes wigs for cancer patients or sick kids?” she asked.

“Sounds good,” he said. 

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll get a ziploc bag for the hair, then.” She got up and went to the kitchen, trying not to be nervous about cutting Bucky’s hair. It was good hair. What if she wrecked it? “Here we go,” she announced, with false bravado, as she put his hair in a ponytail. “Ready?” she asked Bucky.

“Yeah, doll,” he said, smiling sweetly. 

“You’re sure? I’m a little afraid I’ll mess up your pretty hair,” she admitted. He shook his head.

“It’s just hair.”

“And you’d be pretty bald---I just don’t hope that ends up happening,” she said. From the couch, Jack laughed. With a deep breath, she snipped away at the hair right above the elastic. It took a minute: his hair was thick and she had to cut through it slowly. The ends were slightly choppy.

“Woot!” Darcy said, handing him the ponytail. “Here it is!”

“Here it is,” he repeated. He looked at his long hair quizzically.

“What do you think of the length it is now?” she was asking when Rumlow came down the hallway.

“What are you doing?” Rumlow said.

“Cutting Bucky’s hair,” Darcy said. “It’s long enough to comb back and tuck behind your ears,” she told Bucky, handing him a mirror. She raked her hands through his hair, pushing it back. “I could thin out the ends a little, leave it this length?” she offered. Bucky scrunched his nose thoughtfully. “You can also go shorter later,” she added.

“You’re cutting his hair here?” Rumlow said. 

“No, in the yard, Stripperella,” Sam snarked. Jack actually giggled. The volume of whatever was happening on their game increased.

“Don’t be mean to Rumlow,” Darcy said, then wished she could take it back. Rumlow tilted his head at her. She tried to ignore him. She didn’t want to get more nervous. “So, Buck?” Bucky was looking at his face in a mirror and smiling.

“Neaten it up a bit for me, doll?” he said sweetly. 

“Do you want some shorter pieces in the front? I think that’d be cute,” she told him. As she cut, Rumlow sat down, watching them. “What?” Darcy said.

“Where’d you learn to cut hair?” Rumlow asked.

“I had to trim Jane’s in New Mexico and Norway because she refused to leave work to drive to the hairdressers,” Darcy said. 

“How’d you learn to do such a good job?” Bucky asked, smiling, as she trimmed a bit of hair so it lay across his cheekbone.

“Library books and Youtube,” she said. Across the table, Rumlow chuckled. “What are you laughing for?” she sassed him. “I know all your secrets now.”

“Ooooh, girls’s got your number,” Sam said.

“Banana hammock,” Jack cracked in a whisper. They both laughed. Rumlow glared. 

“Shut up assholes,” he said. 

Darcy was dusting the pieces of hair off Bucky’s shoulders when Rumlow asked her if she’d like to cut his hair next. “Just trim the top a little?” he asked.

“Sure,” Darcy said. His hair looked fine to her. 

“What?” Jack said. He sat up, looking stunned. 

“It needs a trim,” Rumlow insisted. 

“Fine,” Jack said. He looked at Sam. “You feel like some basketball?”

“Yeah,” Sam said. They got up off the couch. “Barnes, you coming?” Sam said.

“Yeah. Thanks for the haircut, Darce,” Bucky said. As they walked out, Darcy could have sworn she heard Jack’s voice.

“Never lets anybody but that Gianni cut his hair. Charges eighty dollars for a haircut--” he was saying, before the door shut and locked firmly.

It was just her and Rumlow. And sharp objects. “I think I need a cup of coffee,” she said. 

“Ready?” Rumlow said, smirking, a few minutes later. With nervous fingers, Darcy touched Rumlow’s hair. It was thick, dark, and soft. His eyes watched her and she swallowed. “I dunno, do you really want to cut it?” she asked softly. “The little swoop is nice.” She flicked the longest part of his hair onto his forehead. He grinned. 

“Nice, huh?” he asked. 

“You do have great hair,” she admitted. “It’s perfect.” She tousled it again and then her eyes drifted down to meet his. She’d never noticed the little flecks of green in the amber-brown of his irises before. “I don’t think I should mess with it.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly. He looked pleased. He might annoy her a lot, Darcy realized, but she didn’t really want to hurt him. Or ruin his hair, either.

“Listen,” Darcy said, trying to think of how to phrase it, “you don’t need to play a stripper for me. I said that as a joke, I didn’t mean for you to think--”

“You don’t want me?” he interrupted, frowning. 

“I don’t want you to be embarrassed around people from work,” she said. “It was a joke!” She tried to make her voice light. “I was kidding.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” he said. His expression shifted and he looked stubborn. 

“Brock,” she said, putting her hand on his bicep. Her eyes went to his inner arm tattoo, visible at the edge of his t-shirt sleeve. “You don’t have to--”

“I was good, okay?” he said. “Damn good. I can pull this off. You don’t think I can pull this off?” He grinned at her. “You better bring your cash to that birthday party, princess,” he said. She sighed. Then it dawned on her that this was one of his pranks: he was going to tell everyone that she had wanted him to strip. 

“Oh my God,” she said. “Are you seriously going to run around in man panties at my birthday and grind on people?”

“Isn’t that a good present? Why you blushing? This was your wishlist,” he teased. 

“Ughhhhhhh,” Darcy groaned, mentally picturing it already. Why had she tried to be a smartass with the house’s leading smartass? “Fine, fine. I’m going to my room now.” She stood up, abandoning her scissors and leaving Rumlow and his chair on a towel covered it bits of Bucky’s hair.

“Why?” he called after her. “Does thinking about that make you need to be alone?”

“Shut up,” she yelled back. “I know this is more of your--your--”

“My what?” he said.

“Malarkey!” she yelled, going into her room.

“What the fuck is malarkey, grandma?” he yelled. “You’re just leaving the hair?”

Shutting the bedroom door, she sat down with something between a sigh and a giggle. What was she supposed to do now? Work, she decided, getting her laptop. She’d type a report for Fury. He liked bullet-style updates; they were less reports and more briefing sheets with a few sentences about each man’s activities. Fury was concerned about their re-integrating into society and stuff. She took Bucky’s the most seriously, since he had the most trauma.

_ Barnes shows signs of improvement, re: anxiety, guilt. Engages more in social activities, primarily with Wilson and Rogers. Asked me to cut his hair this week. I want to work on him doing things without asking me for permission, though. Seems to be resting better, doesn’t have nightmares as frequently. _

_ Rollins is similarly social. Attended a baking/cooking class this week. Plays video games with Wilson at least once a week. Goes to the gym with Rumlow frequently. Does not seem to be impacted when people mention HYDRA and shows progress in abandoning his American undercover identity. _

_ Rumlow is…. _ She stopped typing. What the hell was Rumlow, anyway? Her fingers clacked over the keys. _ An annoying, vexing, good-haired, abs-having pain in my ass... _

She grinned in spite of herself, deleted the sentence and re-typed a line.

_ Rumlow is planning my birthday party. _

Darcy didn’t know what else to add. She was thinking when someone knocked. “Come in,” Darcy called out. It was Rumlow.

“Hey,” he said. He smirked. “I cleaned up for you.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You can owe me a favor,” he said.

“A favor?”

“I might need to practice my lap dance,” he said. “You wanna help?”

“Very funny. I’m updating Fury. What activities of daily life do you want him to know about?” she asked, deciding to level with him. Also, she couldn’t just talk about lap dances. Not coherently, anyway.

“Say what?” he asked.

“He just wants to make sure you’re not traumatized, brainwashed, or agoraphobic,” she said fake breezily.

“Oh, okay,” Rumlow said dryly. “No, I just have the regular leave-the-house PTSD.” He was clearly joking with her. “I get up in the morning, I hit the gym, I come home, you’re still in bed, so I hide your coffee beans in a new place--”

“Oh, I’m documenting that!” she yelled. She typed a line:

_ Rumlow plays pranks on the household. Barnes is unalarmed. Rollins is a co-conspirator. Frequently. Most of the pranks are on me. Possibly a sign of ongoing HYDRA impulses. _

“You’re putting that in my file?” he said, smirking and peering over her shoulder to read. 

“Yes,” she said. 

“Great,” he said.

“Do you think Bucky or Jack would be interested in dating soon?” she said, looking at him. 

“Huh?” he said.

“Neither of them seem interested in dating,” she said. “That’s a kind of social engagement.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Jack might be interested in meeting somebody, but I don’t know about Barnes.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That’s difficult.” She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Difficult, huh?” he said, looking smug. “You haven’t dated while you been here, either.” His voice was wry.

“No,” she said, avoiding his gaze.

“You working up to asking me out?” he said, smirking again. “You wanna know if I’m ready for you?”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “You’re so---” she sputtered.

“Handsome and charming?” he offered. “Tomorrow at eight work for you?”

“What?” Darcy said.

“Our first date? I’ll take you to dinner. Or a movie, whatever you want to do. How long has it been since you’ve had sex?” he asked.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “Boundaries!” She grabbed the nearest soft thing--her smiling marshmallow pillow--and started swinging at him.

“You’re assaulting a federal agent out of sexual frustration,” he said, backing up and holding up his arms. “I could arrest you.”

“Just try!” she said.

“Cuffs or no cuffs, princess?” he said, licking his lips. “I feel like you’d like the cuffs, once you tried ‘em--” She threw her pillow at him with a furious sound. 

“You are such a child!” she said. He laughed and that only made her madder. She crossed her arms and glared.

“What no fight left?” he said. “I thought you’d at least try to smack me again, that was fun.”

“Go buy party balloons or something,” she said. He lowed his arms and studied her.

“Come with me,” he said. “You can pick the colors.”

“Nope,” she said.

“What happened to participating in our party?” he said, tilting his head. He picked up her marshmallow pillow at his feet, moved over, and put it on her bed. “There you go, your mother is in a mood,” he told the pillow. It had a little stitched-on face. She started to laugh. “What?” he said. “You talk to the pillows all the time. The pillows, the toaster, your boxes of cereal…”

“Okay, fine,” she said. “I’ll go balloon shopping with you. You need adult supervision anyway.” He looked over his shoulder and back at her.

“Where you gonna find the adult on short notice, Lewis?” he said. 

  


They were driving when he glanced over. “What else do you want for your birthday?” he asked.

“Drinks, maybe?” she said, thinking. Coolers of cheap wine and beer were usually all she did, but it might be fun to have something girlier. 

“No, I mean, like a present,” he said.

“Oh, no, that’s okay,” she said. “No presents. I don’t want people to spend lots of money, just have fun. You know, music, fun food,” she explained. 

“You’re just gonna make this difficult for me, huh?” he said, turning into a parking lot.

“What does that mean?” she said. They were pulling into a parking space.

“When people want to buy you something, let ‘em,” he said. “Tell me what you want. Good communication is key in relationships,” he added, smirking at her. 

“I know this some kind of a prank,” she told him, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening the car door. “I don’t trust your motives.”

“Princess,” he said. “I don’t know why you don’t trust me.”

“You saran wrapped my toilet seat! I peed on my own shoes!” she said. He continued talking. 

“Trust is key--” he was saying, as he came around the car to meet her.

“In relationships?” she said archly, putting her hands on her hips. 

“Yeah,” he said, walking up to her. He stood closer than he normally did--a clear intimidation tactic, she thought. “Trust, communication, what else am I forgetting?,” he said, leaning in so close that his nose almost brushed hers. His hands cupped her waist. “I know I’ve forgotten something,” he said, rubbing her back. “You got ideas?”

“How about not pranking your potential partner and driving her crazy?” she said, jutting her chin out aggressively. She almost bumped his face. He smirked.

“Hmmm,” he said. She thought he was going to say something--or do something. Like kiss her. But then he released her so abruptly that she wobbled a bit. He took her hand. “Let’s go get you those balloons,” he said. He held her hand as they walked up to the automatic doors.

While they looked at party supplies, she snuck off and texted Jane.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Remember when I told you about Rumlow and the stripper thing?

**HRH Queen Jane of Science and Asgard:** It’s only all you’ve talked about this week?

**World’s Okayest Assistant: **He wants to strip at my party.

**World’s Okayest Assistant: **And he wants to go on a date? I think? 

**World’s Okayest Assistant: **I don’t know. 

**World’s Okayest Assistant: **I’m all confused.

**HRH Queen Jane of Science and Asgard: **Are you?

**HRH Queen Jane of Science and Asgard: **Really?

**HRH Queen Jane of Science and Asgard: **He’s infatuated with you, even if he expresses it like a twelve year old.

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Ooh. Are you sure?

  


She found Rumlow looking at the Halloween stuff. “You want a fog machine?” he said. “We could have fun with that.”

“Maybe,” she said, trying to figure him out.

“What’s wrong?” he said. “This place closes in less than fifteen, you gotta make some choices.”

“Nothing,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

“Uh oh, somebody saw the wedding section and got sad?” he teased.

“Shut up, I did not,” she said. “I don’t even want to get married. You are so obnoxious--” 

“Help, she’s going to hit me,” Rumlow said, ducking behind a toy skeleton as an employee walked by. “She’s a dangerous woman.”

"We're closing in nine minutes," the employee said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

They’d lugged the fog machine into the car when Rumlow grinned at her. “Come have a drink with me? I’ll feed you,” he said. The lights of the store had gone off. They were standing under the streetlamps in the parking lot.

“That seems insulting, that you think I can be bribed with food. Besides, I thought you were taking me out tomorrow?” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “Are you having trouble remembering things?”

“I remember what I said,” he told her, doing what she assumed was his sexy face. It involved some duckface, she realized, starting to giggle, as he pouted at her. “What?” he said. “C’mon, what’s funny?”

“You just pouted at me like a baby Kardashian on Snapchat!” Darcy said, really losing it now. She had to lean against the car, laughing. 

“You think I’m funny, huh?” he said, coming around to her side of the car to give her a look. That look was sexier than the first one, though.

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” she said. He was standing so close, it was easy for her to reach out and put her palms on his chest. He looked at her, gaze intense in the dark, and leaned in slightly. Darcy tilted her head back and grinned expectantly, in spite of herself. He was totally going to kiss her now. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached up and cupped her cheek. It was so startling, she almost squeaked.

“Spend time with me,” he said quietly. She felt his thumb stroke her face. “Just the two of us?” 

“Okay,” Darcy said. His sincerity was more disarming than any cheesy pickup line he could have used on her.

“Anything else you want?” he asked, when she was mid-slice at a pizza place that stayed open late.

“Hmmmpf?”

“For your birthday, Lewis,” he said, smirking, as she chewed, waving her hands in dismay.

“No--nope,” she said finally, “but thank you.”

“You haven’t thought of a present?” he said, frowning. Then he leaned forward. “If you don’t tell me something you want, you get what I give you.” His eyes had lit up.

“Cut it out, Brockford T. Rumlow,” she joked. “I see what you’re about. You just wanna be the talk of my whole birthday party.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He swigged his beer. “No. That is absolutely not what I want, princess.”

“What do you want?” she said seriously. Darcy was curious.

“You know,” he said.

“I really don’t,” she said, feeling like the conversation had gone some strange way. He looked all serious again. “But if you think I’ll show you favoritism or give you good references to Fury if I’m your fuck-buddy--” When she said the phrase “fuck-buddy,” he practically spit out his beer. She thought he would laugh, but abruptly, he looked a little miffed.

“I don’t want to get in good with Fury,” he said, doing air quotes. Then he sulked as she ate another piece of pizza, flipping the cap on his beer bottle.

“Where’d you learn that trick?” she asked, more to break the tension. It gave her indigestion to eat with melodramatic men and she wanted to enjoy her pesto-swirl pizza. 

“I did a little bartending as part of a job once,” he said, seeming to uncoil a fraction.

“Oh yeah? Tell me,” she said. That got him talking again. He loved to talk. He was good at telling funny stories, too. She liked the way he gestured when he talked. By the time she was done eating, they were back on good terms again. They were driving home when she looked at him. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” he said, voice light. In the dark, he looked stupidly handsome, she thought. 

“Thank you for planning my party,” she told him. 

“You’re welcome, baby,” he said.

“I’m not your baby,” she said, giggling.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “Just for that, I’m not taking you anyplace fancy on our first date.”

“Joke’s on you, I hate fancy places,” Darcy said. She reached over at a red light and straightened the collar of his jacket. “It was folded,” she said, when he turned his head.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. But I fixed it,” she said. He leaned over and kissed her then, taking her by surprise. He wasn’t playing around: at her first sound of pleasure, he turned the light kiss into something deeper, holding her neck gently. 

Behind them, a car honked. The light had turned green. “Fuck,” he muttered, licking his lips.

They pulled into the driveway at home. Darcy was keyed up. She looked at Brock as he eased the car into park. “I--” she began, but he closed the distance between them and kissed her almost frantically. She wiggled to face him, threading her fingers through his hair as he sucked on her bottom lip. He shifted, then swore as he broke the kiss. 

“Fucking console,” Brock said bitterly. It made her laugh. “You shut your mouth,” he said teasingly, beaming at her before cupping her face again. 

“Mmmhh,” she said, reaching under his t-shirt. His abs felt amazing. She trailed her fingers down, palming the front of his jeans and he groaned and rocked against her hand. He lifted her over the console and deposited her into his lap. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he murmured. 

“Yup,” Darcy said, laughing. “You’re not too bad, either.” She was sucking on his neck when he swore and went tense. There was a knock on the glass window at Darcy’s elbow. She looked up. Bucky was standing there. Darcy hit the button on the door and the window eased down.

“Hello, doll. Rumlow,” he said politely. He actually looked pleased, Darcy thought.

“Need help, Buckarini?” she said blithely.

“You asshole,” Brock muttered at the same time. Bucky grinned.

“Behave,” Darcy said, rubbing his neck. “This is not so bad, at least we weren’t in the backseat with your pants around your ankles.” At that, Brock groaned in frustration and shifted Darcy in his lap. 

“I wouldn’t have interrupted you, but, uh, Fury’s here. He’s brought somebody with him. New resident,” Bucky said. 

“Ohhh, man,” Darcy said. "We're busted."

“Shit,” Brock said. 

“He’s got a dog,” Bucky added, as they walked inside. “Told Fury you’d be cool with it.”

“Fantastic,” Darcy said. She loved dogs.

“It better be well-behaved,” Brock said.

Fury was waiting when they did the walk of shame inside. “Lewis,” Fury said to her. He was in full trenchcoat and drama mode. “How nice of you and Rumlow to arrive.”

“Sir,” Brock said, nodding.

“I’ve brought you a new resident,” Fury said, gesturing to the guy on the couch, playing videogames with Jack. He had a Marine haircut and was wearing a battered hoodie. And a set of matching black eyes. “Frank Castle, meet Darcy Lewis,” Fury said. The dog at Castle’s feet lifted its head and looked at Darcy. 

“Hi, buddy,” she said brightly and the pit bull responded by wagging its tail. It thumped against the coffee table. That was when Frank Castle actually acknowledged her. He lifted his eyes to her face and then tilted his head.

“Hi,” Darcy said. His calm expression turned skeptical. 

“You make out with all the residents, honey?” Frank said.

“Hey, asshole--” Brock said.

“You don’t look so good in her lipstick, though, pal,” he added.

"It's not his color," Jack announced. "He's an Autumn."

"No shit?" Frank said. "An Autumn, huh?" His voice was laced with sarcasm.

"You--you--" Brock stammered. Darcy looked at him.

"You had your colors done? I've always wanted to do that. Was it fun?" she asked. Frank laughed.

"His mum does the colors thing," Jack said. "She could help you out, love."

"Learn something new every day," Fury said. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Earning our M-rating with this one.

“Brock!” Darcy said. She’d gone down the hallway to get a blanket for her new favorite resident--Dog--when Brock dragged her into her bedroom and shut the door behind her back. He was kissing her when she wiggled free a little. 

“What, princess?” he said.

“Did you come in my room and get naked?” she said. Her hands had felt his bare chest in the dim light.

“I’ve got briefs on,” he said defensively. Then he grinned. “Wanna help me with those?”

“You’re incorrigible,” she said, leaning her head back against the door and smiling up at him. “Bad, bad Brock.”

“You got me all worked up in the car, baby,” he said, leaning forward to kiss her. That wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. Darcy sighed. He had an amazing body. It would be a real shame not to touch it, really. Or see it.

“Okay,” she said, feeling herself grin like an idiot. “But turn the light on.”

“Yeah?” Brock said, smiling. He reached over and hit the switch, then he towed her to the bed and slid his hands up her shirt. They were kissing at the foot of her mattress when there was a heavy rap on the door.

“I was promised a blanket or some shit?” Frank said on the other side.

“Shit,” Darcy said. 

“Get lost, Castle,” Brock called out. 

“Stop, cut it out,” Darcy said, pushing him a little. He didn’t move. “Just a sec, Frank!” she called out. She heard Frank make a sound. It was something between a huff and a chuckle. “Put some clothes on while I get him a blanket for the dog,” Darcy said to Brock. He was half out of his briefs. 

“You’re the one who can’t keep your hands off my ass,” he teased, kissing her another time.

“You’re killing me,” she complained, prying her shirt back down and detaching herself with difficulty. He’d been squeezing her. One of her boobs had made a run for it and had to be wiggled back into the bra cup. That made Brock grin. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself,” she told him.

“You’re hot,” he said, as she stood up. She got a blanket out of the closet for Dog, then went to the door. When she cracked it open to slide the blanket out, Frank was leaning against the doorframe, looking amused. 

“Here you go,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said. 

“You’re welc--” Darcy began, when she heard the TV click on behind her and Frank started to laugh.

“Nice robe, pal,” he said. Darcy looked over her shoulder. A messy-haired Brock sat at the foot of her bed. It her donut-print pink bathrobe. He’d gotten the remote and turned on her little bedroom TV. Brock tilted his head and gave Frank a decidely cold look.

“It’s very comfortable,” he said. “Asshole.”

“Hey, I’m not the guy in a pink fuzz--” Frank began.

“It was a free gift with purchase,” Darcy said, the thought occurring to her randomly. Then she shoved the blanket at Frank a little more. “Welcome to the house. Have a good night.” She shut the door.

“Sounds like somebody’s gonna!” Frank called. Then she heard his heavy tread on the floor. Darcy sighed. 

“Jesus,” she muttered. “How do I end up in these situations?” 

“He’s done way more bad things than me,” Brock said. “Really, I’m the good guy here. He shouldn’t be making fun of my robe.”

“Your robe?” Darcy said.

“I mean, if you knew about him and the meathooks, princess, you’d want me with you every night,” Brock said. He reached down to untie the robe. “Just for personal safety. You like the TV on or off?” he asked. Darcy looked at him. She couldn’t help it. She started to laugh. “What?” Brock said.

“We bought a fog machine tonight, Frank Castle is living with us, and you’re in my robe,” Darcy said, between giggles. “What even is my life?” she added. He grinned at her.

“We’re having fun,” Brock said. “C’mere. Doesn’t this feel like fun?” 

  
  


They were both naked when he stopped kissing her and looked up from where his face was level with her cleavage. “I could use the fog machine during my routine at your birthday, princess,” he said. Her expression must have been horrified, because he started to laugh again, 

“I’m going to kill you---” Darcy said, trying to sit up. Then her ability to move or make sentences failed her when he pressed his mouth against her inner thighs, sucking softly. “Shit,” she muttered, sinking her head back into the pillow again. Her inner thighs were sensitive.

“What’s that?” he said, smirking and tipping his head down. “You like that, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. He trailed kisses towards the center of her body with irritating slowness. He was teasing her.

“All worked up now?”” he asked.

“Shut--” He flicked his tongue against her clit gently, then applied more pressure. “Real--really good,” she said stutteringly, between moans. “I--I--” she said.

“What, baby?” he said, shifting upwards, as if he’d read her mind. She needed more of him. 

“Please,” she said, tugging his hair. He smirked.

“Use your words, princess,” he said. 

“Condoms,” she bit out. That made him smile. 

  
  


Darcy woke up half wrapped in her bathrobe. Had he done that? Put her robe over her back so she’d be warm? She grabbed her glasses to look at the clock. It was five am. Far too early to get up, really. Brock was snoring on her glitter pillow. He looked zonked. Darcy felt zonked. She was tired from all her workplace demands, obviously. And he’d sort of wrecked her last night. Just a little. She tried to think of what all she’d said to him. Nothing crazy, right? He’d wanted to her say what she wanted, which had been half-agonizing, half-erotic in the moment. Mostly because she’d begged. But it was one thing to beg to be fucked and another if she’d said...something else? Had she? She had a vague memory of….

“Shit,” Darcy said. Next to her, Brock shifted and opened his eyes slowly. As he woke up, he licked his lips. Then he smiled.

“Hey, baby,” he whispered, voice raspy. “You still love me and my dick?”

“Ahhhh,” Darcy said, as he started to laugh. That fucker. “No,” she muttered, attempting to hide her face under a pillow. “I do not.”

“Yes you do,” he joked. One of his eyes appeared in her line of vision as he lifted the pillow and peered at her. “Come on out, princess,” he said teasingly. She felt his knee slide between her thighs, then his arm go around her waist. “It’s not gonna blow itself.”

That was when she hit him with the pillow. “Can’t you just be romantic for a second?” she said, thwacking him in the face. He laughed. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“This is nice,” Darcy said to Brock, looking around the dimly-lit restaurant. “Very romantic place for a first date, Brock,” she told him. “I’m impressed.” They’d had to postpone it a few days, but things were going well between them. Darcy quashed her worries about birthday party shenanigans to smile at him. 

“It would be better if we were alone,” Rumlow grumbled, half glancing out to the restaurant’s covered patio, where Jack, Bucky, Frank, and Dog were watching them. Well, not Dog. Dog was drooling at the food being eaten at the next table. 

“I’m sure they’ll all be competitively flirting with their waitress soon,” Darcy said, rubbing Brock’s arm. “She’s cute--wait, It looks like Bucky is already.” Bucky must’ve said something funny, because the waitress was actually laughing. “Nat did volunteer to babysit if we want to go on a vacation, though. Should I make she and Sam the godparents for Rollins, Barnes, and Frank if we run off?” she joked lightly. Darcy’s smile faltered when Brock sighed in response. “Baby, I’m very happy,” she told him comfortingly.

“Yeah, but it’s a mood killer,” Brock said. “What about our couple time?”

“Oh, no, we simply don’t get enough time together, what with working for the same agency, living together, and now, sharing my little bed,” Darcy said. “Whatever shall we do?” She grinned at him. He looked frustrated, in a cute way. 

“Get you a bigger bed, that full bed has no room. You want a king?” he asked. 

“I thought I had one,” she teased. He actually blushed a little and Darcy squealed in delight. Quietly, of course. This was a nice restaurant. “My first blush!” she said.

“Don’t tease me,” he told her, pulling a face. She was discovering he had a whole range of faces. Chagrin. Lust. Something that might be actual affection--but she needed to confirm her suspicions with Jack.

“I would never,” she said, smiling. He glanced back at the patio, frowning. It would never do for him to be distracted like this all night. “Eyes on me, Commander,” she said. She reached across the table and tousled his hair. That got his full attention. 

“Not the hair, Lewis,” he groused. “I worked hard to get it to look good tonight.”

“Your hair always looks good,” she said. “Really good.” 

“I used the good pomade,” he said. Darcy grinned. He was vain about his hair, but for obvious reasons: it was incredibly dark, incredibly shiny, and the thickest hair she’d ever seen on a man who wasn’t named John F. Kennedy Jr. He could come home from the gym, shower, and towel dry it off, where it dried with almost bouffant-like fluffiness. Her grandma--possessor of a classic tower of southern lady hair--would have seethed envy and AquaNet at the mere sight of him. Brock Rumlow had been blessed by the hair gods. “What?” he said. 

“I’m thinking about how pretty you are,” she said, resting her chin in her hand and beaming at him. “So much pretty.” 

“You think so?” he said. She nodded firmly. Darcy made a mental note to surprise him with some of that cool-looking pomade she’d seen. What was it called? Suavecito, she remembered. That would make him happy. He seemed to want attention, praise, and affection. For a good-looking, highly-trained STRIKE Commander, and ex-HYDRA infilitrator, Darcy thought he had an almost childlike craving for her attention. She and Jane had discussed it in the lab. Jane had declared him “emotionally stunted by SHIELD” and Darcy had been a teensy bit offended on his behalf. They’d actually bickered and then Jane had told Darcy that she (Darcy) had feelings. More accurately, she’d called them _ squishy, squishy love feelings for Brock freaking Rumlow. _Darcy had thrown her stress ball at Jane in irritation. She hated being seen. Gah. So annoying. “What’s wrong?” Brock said, looking concerned. “You’re frowning.” He glanced backwards. “Are they misbehaving--?”

“No, no,” Darcy said, gesturing. Her other charges seemed to be behaving well. “I was trying to remember the name of a hair product. To surprise you.”

“Yeah?” he said, brightening. “You know, we have that in common. You like your hair stuff, too.”

“True,” Darcy said. “Only I have more frizz than you. The curse of curly hair.” He looked at her with an odd expression. “What?” she said.

“I, uh, want you to know that I’d have asked you out without us living together,” he said, expression serious. “If we met at work. I’m not just asking because…”

“I was around and you thought it’d be convenient?” Darcy joked. 

“Yes,” he said. “I mean, no. You know what I mean,” he said. “Shit.” He rubbed his face. “I’m shitty at emotions.”

“You’re not totally shitty,” Darcy said. “Medium shitty, maybe.” That made him laugh. 

“Is that the official term, Lewis?” he asked, sounding like his smartass self again.

“Ah, there’s the guy who broke my lamp without shame,” Darcy said. 

“That I was Rollins--”

“Sure,” she said.

“Hand to God,” he said, sounding perfectly sincere and touching his heart, “that was Jack, not me.”

“The ravioli is amazing--” Darcy was saying, when there was a small disruption on the patio. They both looked up in alarm. Frank was yelling at somebody they didn’t know.

“Shit,” Brock said. “Frank. I’ll go--”

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Technically, this is my job. You just sit here and look pretty.” She bumped him with her hip as she walked by. Darcy wasn’t worried; Bucky had a metal arm on Frank. Short of having Steve stand on his stomach, Frank was pretty effectively detained. “Gentlemen,” she said, walking out. “Is there a problem?” Darcy flashed the SHIELD badge that Fury had given her for babysitting emergencies. Jack sighed; Bucky shrugged at her question. Frank merely looked pissed as fuck.

“SHIELD?” the man said. He had been yelling, too, she realized. His skin was the color of a ripe San Marzano, but rapidly went pale.

“The very same. What’s going on?” she said. The stranger looked suitably intimidated and didn’t speak. “Frank?” Darcy said.

“He insulted my dog,” Frank said. 

“That pit bull is a menace,” the stranger said. 

“What did he do, make eyes at your salmon?” Darcy said. She leaned down. “Hi, Dog. You bored, honey?” Dog’s tail thumped against Frank’s chair as he attempted to kiss her face. Full slobber kisses. “Oh, sure, yeah, I really see it,” she said sarcastically. “Why don’t we pay for your meal--”

“Hey,” Frank said.

“Shut up, Frank, you’re ruining my date,” Darcy said. “We’ll pay for your meal,” she told the man, “and everyone can just go back to eating? How’s that sound?”

“Sure,” the man said, flushing dully.

“Just send his bill to me,” Darcy told the waitress. She nodded. Darcy thought that would settle everything.

It did not. Twenty minutes later, her charges were kicked out of the restaurant. Which meant she and Brock had to go, too. “I’m sorry, doll,” Bucky said gently, as they got in the SUV. Jack was driving.

“It’s all right,” Darcy said, trying not to sound too upset. Brock was fuming and carrying their takeout containers. He was upset enough for both of them. 

“I know you did that shit on purpose, Castle,” he said grimly. “I see you.” He buckled his seat belt with open hostility.

“It wasn’t me,” Frank insisted. “I keep telling you, I’m not doing shit.”

“Sure,” Brock said. “You just broke up our date for no reason? You gonna blame it on your dog?” His sarcasm was practically acidic.

“No, asshole, it wasn’t the dog’s goddamn fault. His wife was making eyes at Pretty Boy Barnes, is all,” Frank said, rubbing his cropped hair angrily. “He got pissed, took it out on Dog.”

“What?” Darcy said.

“I did not encourage this,” Bucky said slowly. “The making eyes.”

“She was, though,” Jack said gleefully. “Practically fell into his lap when she made that phony trip to the bloody ladies’ room.”

“I had to catch her,” Bucky said guiltily. 

“You shoulda seen the husband’s face. That was fucking funny,” Frank insisted.

“I hate you assholes,” Brock said bitterly.

“We’ll get a sitter,” Darcy said. “Bucky can’t help being so beautiful that it attracts wives.”

“Doll,” Bucky said in the softest of voices. 

“Now, why the fuck aren’t you jealous of him?” Frank said, evidently to Brock. “Why are you riding my ass all the time, Rumlow? I don’t want to fuck Lewis.”

“You say that but I see what---are you insulting her looks? Because I will beat your ass. You better be hitting on her. You got them Dumbo ears and a face like a goddamn Picasso, you’d be lucky if she even looked at you!” Brock said lethally.

“What is going on?” Darcy said. When the argument didn’t cease, she yelled, throwing up her arms in frustration. “Hey! Hey!” They got quieter. “Thank you. Brock, no. Someone else explain.”

“Rumlow thinks Frank is trying to flirt with you,” Bucky said.

“I think he’s mostly threatened by the dog,” Jack said. “He knows how much you like animals, Darce.”

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“I’m not that jealous,” Brock insisted.

“Why’d you Google pet birds the other day, then?” Frank said. “You gonna be a pirate or something?”

“You shut up--” Brock said.

“Brock?” Darcy said.

“Yeah, honey?” he said, drawn by the nervous note in her voice.

“I don’t really want a bird,” she said. “They’re so messy. Please, no birds.”

“Okay. Yeah. No birds,” he said. Frank chuckled.

“She’s got you whipped,” he muttered.

“Does Bucky need to switch seats with one of you?” Darcy said. 

“No,” they both said dully. Jack drove as they rode in silence. Rumlow looked out the window; Bucky tapped a pattern on his metal arm. Frank petted Dog, sitting in the floorboard between his legs. It seemed like a long and silent trip home. Jack turned on a news station. They were talking about the election.

“This bullshit,” Frank said. “You know what’s crazy--”

“I’m beginning to hate the sound of your fucking voice,” Rumlow said.

“That’s not nice, mate,” Jack said. Everyone was quiet as they pulled into the driveway. “Here we are,” Jack announced.

“Home sweet home,” Darcy said.

“I’m sorry about your date,” Bucky said to her gently, as they walked inside.

“I think I’ll live,” Darcy said. She half-turned back and took Brock’s hand. That seemed to startle him. “Did you want to take these leftovers to my room?” she offered.

“Food in the bedroom?” Brock said.

“C’mon, let’s wreck your abs a little,” she said, towing him into the hallway. “I’ll feed you some of my ravioli.” Brock sighed.

“I don’t wanna wreck my abs,” he said. “Can’t we just fool around instead?”

“He’s got that big birthday performance!” Jack called after them. “He’s already talking about cutting weight, Darce.”

“Are you doing unhealthy things for my birthday?” she asked Brock.

“No,” he said. But he looked culpable. Vaguely.

“Well, I’m mandating you at least have cake after the stripping is over,” she said. She heard the guys laughing at them. “That’s a new rule!” Darcy called. “Everyone gets cake!” She shut the bedroom door behind them. Brock sat on the bed with a sigh. 

“I can’t believe those idiots got us kicked out,” he said.

“I thought it was a perfectly good first date,” Darcy said. “I’m not upset. And now I can get out of my uncomfortable underwear faster. And into your pants! This is an exciting development.” He smirked at her. She turned. “Unzip me?” Darcy asked.

“Sure,” he said looking more alert. He undid her dress. “Why do you wear this awful shit?” he said, looking at her Spanx.

“I have no idea. Should I quit?” she asked, letting the dress drop to the floor. 

“Yeah,” he said, smiling slowly as he unhooked her bra. “You really have a good time?”

“Getting better every second,” Darcy said, turning to face him. They were kissing on the bed when she had a thought. She looked at Brock. “Should we switch the cake frosting to a non-chocolate because of Dog?” Darcy wondered.

“You should not be thinking about his dog right now,” Brock grumbled.

“I’m only thinking of pet safety!” she insisted. That was when he started tickling her. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random book anecdote: I just finished the book "Furious Love," about Liz Taylor and Richard Burton. There's a bit in there about how Burton and Taylor were potentially jealous of each other's costars (she was nervous about him and Sophia Loren, he was afraid when she costarred with Warren Beatty) but more hilariously, Burton used to get upset when men didn't flirt with Taylor because--drumroll please--he thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, so it was *disrespectful* to snub her by...not flirting?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Did you want a new bed?” Darcy asked Bucky. She and Brock were shopping for a bigger bed; he was moving into her room. So, they’d decided to go to a store, only that meant everyone had to go, too. She’d wandered away from Brock--her actual boyfriend, a part of her brain supplied--to check on Bucky.

“No,” Bucky said sweetly, “my bed’s fine.” Across the room, Jack was dangling his long legs over the edge of a deluxe pillowtop while Frank made a series of faces over the price.

“Eight hundred dollars for a goddamn bed?” he said out loud. A sales associate looked at him nervously.

“Are you sure you’re okay with a twin, though? You’ve got room for a bigger one. People get roomy beds now,” she told Bucky. “Space for two whole people and a bunch of pillows.” He smiled at her.

“How’d you know I grew up with a small bed?” he said. 

“Steve told me he used to put newspaper in his shoes, I took a guess,” she said, feeling an irrational urge to get Bucky a real bed. It was an oddly maternal feeling: she wanted him to feel safe and comfortable and maybe a little bit spoiled. She had to shake off the thought and grinned to herself; she sounded like she wanted to be Bucky’s sugar mama, but the feeling was loving, not sexual. Darcy leaned over and gave him a half-hug on impulse, resting her head against his metal bicep.

“What is it, doll?” Bucky said, looking down at her.

“I want you to be happy,” she told him, genuinely meaning it. “So, you should get a new bed, if you want one? The little things, you know?” He’d mentioned to her that when he’d been on the run that he’d bought a few things that made him happy--a thermos, some kitchen towels--because he’d never had anything new.

“Little things,” Bucky repeated, smiling to himself. Darcy had mentally vowed that she’d buy him something cozy, like pillows or a quilt, when Brock walked over.

“You tryin’ to steal my girl, Barnes?” he asked. His voice was gentle. One of the things Darcy liked about Brock was that he was kind to Bucky--never sharp the way he could be with Rollins or Castle. According to Jack, Brock felt guilty that they hadn’t been able to help him escape from Pierce sooner.

“Nope,” Darcy said, “I’m just accosting the poor man with hugs, like every other woman in a ten mile radius.” That made Bucky grin again. She detached herself so Brock could wrap his arms around her waist.

“That woman at IKEA almost fainted when you smiled at her, Barnes,” Brock joked.

“She did, there was definitely some swooning,” Darcy said. “It was like this.” She mimed fainting in Brock’s arms. Brock laughed, but Bucky looked sheepish. 

“Cut it out,” he muttered. Bucky shook his head and wandered over to Rollins and Castle, blushing slightly.

“Where you going?” Brock said. Bucky pulled his cap lower and pretended not to hear them. “He’s ignoring us. I think we scared ‘im,” Brock said.

“He’s very delicate and easily embarrassed right now,” Darcy said. “But Steve tells me he used to be the biggest flirt, so I’m hoping it’s just a phase.”

“A phase?” Brock said, laughing. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“You’re such a mom,” he told her. “Come look at a bed with me?”

“Okay,” Darcy said, actually pleased. He led her over to a queen-sized mattress and she sat on one side with him on the other. 

“This the side of the bed you like?” he said. Darcy nodded, wiggling her limbs. They were lying side by side when the others walked over.

“We’d have plenty of room for both of us,” she said to Brock. “But we’ll need new sheets and things.”

“We gotta go somewhere else on a Saturday?” Frank said, sighing heavily. Jack grinned.

“I was thinking Target,” Darcy said. Frank visibly cringed.

“Goddammit, Lewis, Target on Saturdays is a nightmare,” he said. “There’ll be ten thousand fucking people, a bunch of kids with sticky fingers--”

“I thought you liked kids?” Darcy said. He’d been nice to kids who wanted to pet Dog.

“Not the children of dipshits who go to Target on Saturday, lemme tell you about those assholes, they don’t teach their kids shit--” Frank said, clearly starting a rant.

“None of your attitude,” Brock told him. 

“You sure you don’t want a bigger bed?” Darcy asked Bucky, sitting up.

“No, I’ll wait,” he said.

“Don’t make me badger you,” she threatened. Finally, she was able to convince Bucky to agree to one. Frank was still monologuing as they bought the mattresses and made arrangements for them to be delivered.

“These assholes,” Darcy heard him tell Jack as they crossed the parking lot, “let their kids run wild. They’ll be five feet back going”--he mimed a weak-sounding voice--“‘Madison! Madison!’ while the kid scales a goddamn tower of stuffed animals and almost breaks its neck. Or the kid darts in front of your shopping cart, you know how kids are--”

“Uh-huh,” Jack said, clearly letting the rant wash over him.

“The sorry ass parents are ten feet back,” Frank said, miming holding a phone, “faces in their damn phones, about to let their kid play in traffic. I hate goddamn cell phones.”

“They have leashes for the kids now!” Darcy said cheerfully. Bucky flashed her a grin and she grinned back at him.

“Don’t bait him,” Brock said. He and Darcy were holding hands. 

“That--that--fucking shit is a crime!” Frank said.

“Inside voice,” Brock called back. 

“Would you stop acting like you’re my goddamn father?” Frank objected. “I know you’re old--”

“He is dating your mum now,” Jack said dryly. That made Bucky lose it, laughing so hard he had to lean against the SUV.

“Is everyone calling me mom behind my back?” Darcy wondered, as she got in the passenger seat. Brock, who insisted on driving now, had made that joke inside the store...

“Rollins started it,” Frank said, snickering, as he climbed in the backseat. Jack followed.

“Seemed to suit,” Jack said mildly, shrugging. 

“Awww, that’s cute,” Darcy said. “All this time, I thought I’d be a dog’s mom first.” In the third row, Bucky smiled.

“You’re a weird little person, aren’t you?” Frank said bluntly.

“Don’t insult her,” Brock said, glaring at him. He stopped backing out of the parking space. “Apologize to Darcy,” he ordered.

“What?” Frank said.

“I can stay in Target a real long time, asshole,” Brock said.

“Shit,” Frank muttered.

“He’s got you there,” Jack said.

“I’m sorry,” Frank said, sighing. “You’re very nice to my dog.” Brock looked at him the rearview mirror. “And me,” Frank added.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, turning around to look at them. The SUV began moving again. 

“They have a coffee shop now,” Bucky said suddenly. “Steve went last week with Nat. That’s what they were, uh, remodeling. He didn’t know they put those in Targets.”

“I’ll get you a coffee if you want one,” Darcy said to him, thinking this would be a good thing she could do for Bucky. He shook his head gently.

“No, I thought you might like one,” he said, “since you love coffee.” Darcy beamed at him. 

“This is why he’s your favorite,” Brock whispered, as he drove.

  
  


Target _ was _ a madhouse, but Darcy wasn’t going to admit that to Frank Castle. Instead, she bought he and Bucky coffee. “Thank you,” Bucky said.

“I can pay for my own,” Frank said, getting out his wallet. Darcy decided to use his stubbornness to solve her biggest problem: she was out of dollar bills. She’d thought she had some cash to tip baristas. Had Brock ‘borrowed’ her dollar bills? 

“Tip Michaela for me, please, I don’t have cash,” Darcy said, smiling at the barista. She was nice--and pretty. 

“Here you go,” Frank said. Darcy noticed his ears went a little red when Michaela smiled at him and she mouthed _ see that? _at Bucky. He nodded. Then Darcy realized Frank was putting extra change in with his dollar bill and almost laughed. “You had to make five drinks,” Frank was saying, even though he and Bucky and Brock drank black coffee. She and Jack were the latte fiends. Darcy had to turn back to Brock to keep from giggling.

“Where’d Jack go?” she asked him. 

“Sporting goods, he wants a new yoga mat,” Brock said. “He keeps trying to get me into that.”

“It’d probably be fun for you,” Darcy said. She turned back to look at Frank and Bucky. “Did you guys want to stay here while we shop or tag along?” she offered. 

“Tag along,” Bucky said. Frank hadn’t answered.

“Frank?” Darcy asked. Frank was shaking his head at someone putting approximately twelve Splendas in their cup and making a mess at the do-it-yourself station. They’d strewn packets everywhere.

“You see that? She’s gotta clean that up,” Frank said.

“Castle has a crush,” Brock said.

“I do not,” Frank said stubbornly. Bucky rolled his eyes at Darcy. 

“Did you take my dollar bills?” Darcy asked Brock, as they walked towards the bedding section. “Is this”--she lowered her voice-- “a birthday stripper thing?” Frank almost spit out his coffee.

“Shit. I meant to put ‘em back,” Brock said.

“Whoops,” Bucky said softly.

“What were you doing with them?” she wondered. 

“I gotta practice my routine,” Brock said, shrugging and grinning naughtily. “Why? You excited?”

“Oh my God, you’ve really been practicing your pole dance!” Darcy said. “With who?”

“You think I’d dance for another woman?” Brock said, mock-pouting. “That hurts me, sweetheart.”

“He got me and Jack to provide constructive criticism. Sorry, I didn’t realize they were your dollars, Darce,” Bucky said. 

“I did not need to hear that,” Frank said. “You stuffed this asshole’s g-string?”

“Nah, they just made it rain,” Brock said. “You can’t practice without an audience, though. You need music and an audience, or else it don’t feel right.” 

“Sure, Magic Mike,” Frank said. Brock started to argue with him in the middle of the Target aisle.

“You gotta have the right song to time your thrusts, too,” he said, “or it don’t work at all--” Looking between Brock’s serious musings on the correct music to take your pants off to, Frank’s skeptical face, and Bucky’s grin at the other staring shoppers, Darcy officially lost it. She burst out laughing and stumbled down a side aisle to set her caramel latte next to a bottle of Fabuloso cleaner. She held onto the shelf, laughing until her mascara ran. “Honey?” Brock said, concerned. He’d moved over to her elbow.

“Oh God,” she said, turning to hold onto him. “This is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve seen half of Asgard naked.” 

“She’s the perfect girl for you, Magic Mike,” Frank cracked, from a few feet away.

“Yeah,” Brock said, grinning at Darcy. 

  
  


“You want a fuzzy blanket?” Brock asked her. Darcy looked at the gray blanket in his hands. They’d finally made it to furniture and bedding. Bucky was looking at sheets and Frank was sitting in a floor demo chair, people watching. 

“I like the fabric, but I want a real color,” she said. “Like teal or purple?”

“Okay,” Brock said seriously, looking around. He wanted to make her happy, Darcy realized, feeling charmed by him again. She walked over and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“You’re a great boyfriend,” she whispered in his ear. He smirked.

“I know,” he said. She laughed at his nerve, but kept holding him for a minute. He found a more colorful version of the blanket. “You like this blush color?” Brock asked. 

“Yup,” Darcy said. “I like blush wine, too.” 

“Maybe we can put the kids to bed early and have some?” Brock offered.

“Ohhhhh,” Darcy said. “Very great boyfriend.”

“You think Barnes needs help?” he said, nodding in Bucky’s direction. Bucky was puzzling over the sheets. 

“I’ll check,” Darcy said. She stepped over to him. “Whatcha like, Buckaroo?” she asked. 

“There are so many choices, doll,” Bucky said. “How do you pick?”

“I like jersey sheets,” Darcy said. “It’s like sleeping in a really big, soft t-shirt.”

“A big t-shirt?” Bucky said, reaching out to touch the jersey sheet sample. “It’s soft. Real soft.”

“She’s very refined and classy like that,” Brock joked from behind Darcy. He was carrying their blankets and sheet set.

“Hey!” she said, mock-offended. “I’m the very classy owner of an extensive hot chocolate collection. How dare you, sir. How dare.”

“He’s got cheek for a man with his own collection of budgie smugglers,” Jack said. He’d appeared with two yoga mats tucked under one arm. “Got you one, mate,” he told Bucky. He passed it to Bucky.

“Thanks,” Bucky said.

“His own...what?” Darcy said, eyes going wide. Brock groaned. 

“Speedos,” Jack said, grinning in his feral way. “We call ‘em budgie smugglers back home,” he said. Brock started to protest.

“I only got the one,” he said. “For her birthday.”

“Budgie smugglers?” Darcy said, cracking up. “Like the little birds?” she asked, between laughs. Jack nodded. “Budgies!” she repeated.

“Why you gotta embarrass me like that?” Brock asked, as Bucky chose a set of jersey sheets and balanced them neatly under his arm. Darcy started to laugh harder at his tone. Frank walked over and looked at them.

“We need a shopping cart. What’s everybody laughing at?” he said. He looked from a giggling Darcy to Jack. “I don’t get a damn yoga mat?”

They got him a yoga mat. On the way out, Darcy impulse bought one of those twerking stuffed animals, too. “What are you getting that for?” Brock said, as they stood in the checkout line.

“For fun,” she said. “And you two can make it rain together, I’ve seen videos. We’re going to need my dollars, though.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, pointing. “You want me to do it, don’t you? I see you, thinking about it!” His expression was gleeful.

“Shit,” Darcy said.

“He busted you there, Shortstack,” Frank said, grinning and looking in the other direction slyly.

“Are you flirting with Michaela?” Darcy said. He was visible to her from where they were in line.

“No,” Frank said defensively.

“She’s very cute, though,” Darcy said. 

“Kinda,” Frank said, grinning in a boyish way. He sighed. “But she’s probably real young. She’s got that little nose ring,” he said.

“She’s thirty and getting a master’s degree in counseling,” Darcy said. 

“Why do people tell you these things?” Brock said, sounding curious.

“I have a friendly face!” Darcy said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your obligatory twerking alpaca video: https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/617568223722946560/i-need-to-do-this-or-put-it-in-a-fic-either-one


End file.
